


Hypnoctober Day 29

by birdginia



Series: Hypnoctober 2018 [29]
Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Hypnotism, Kotomine Shirou AU, M/M, Memory Alteration, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 18:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16918233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdginia/pseuds/birdginia
Summary: (prompt - sleepy sex)“The meditation exercises can be done on your own, you know,” Father Kotomine says, running a hand over a cut on Shirou’s upper arm.Shirou winces—at the feeling of his skin knitting back together, not his guardian’s words, he tells himself. “I know, but… it works better when you do it.”





	Hypnoctober Day 29

**Author's Note:**

> in case the tag is confusing (thanks.....apocrypha....) this is the au where shirou was raised by kirei instead of kiritsugu. good times.
> 
> my twitter is over at [@Slotheyyyyy](https://twitter.com/Slotheyyyyy). check out my very important thoughts and opinions on fucking, and @ me with any of yours!

Shirou wakes up. He’s a little groggy, but otherwise rested, ready to get up and start getting breakfast ready before training.

It’s better than waking up screaming.

\- 

“Can you help me sleep again tonight?” Shirou asks, rubbing at the spot where a freshly-healed bruise had just been. 

“The meditation exercises can be done on your own, you know,” Father Kotomine says, running a hand over a cut on Shirou’s upper arm.

Shirou winces—at the feeling of his skin knitting back together, not his guardian’s words, he tells himself. “I know, but… it works better when you do it.”

Father Kotomine smiles, pressing his thumb against smooth skin. “Very well.”

-

“Four, deeper now, every muscle so heavy, unable to move, unwilling to try.”

Shirou holds on to every word Father Kotomine says, like he always does, letting his suggestions sink into his skin.

“Three, no need for thoughts, completely empty, no worries, no wants, just rest.”

He’s been steadily losing focus on his own body since his eyes closed, and now he feels like he’s floating, somewhere both above and below his bed.

“Two, let yourself slip, further and further.”

He’s out before he even hears “one.”

-

Shirou wakes up. He aches a bit in his limbs. Probably some bruises Father Kotomine forgot to heal after sparring.

-

“I told you, that’s all it is! A lot of fire, a lot of screaming, and just… pain. A lot of pain. I don’t… I don’t know how many more details you want.”

“Calm down, Shirou.” Father Kotomine puts a hand on Shirou’s back, rubbing it gently as Shirou shakes with the effort of not breaking down into tears. “I’m only making sure there’s nothing else in your nightmares that you need to process.”

“There’s not, okay? And even if there was, I don’t want to think about it.” Shirou relaxes under the firm, grounding touch, and lets out a stuttering breath. “I just want it to stop happening. Can’t you do that?”

“I can’t.” He doesn’t even have the decency to sound apologetic. Shirou frowns.

Father Kotomine tugs at Shirou’s shoulder, gently pushing him back down to the mattress. “Try to go back to sleep.”

“Help me?”

Father Kotomine pauses. Then he smiles, a little too widely, but he nods. “Of course. But be careful. I don’t want you becoming dependent on me.”

-

“Zero.”

-

Shirou wakes up. He’s sweating, but it’s not the cold sweat of nightmares. It must be a warm autumn. 

-

“They’re getting worse, when I don’t ask you to fix it.”

“Oh?”

-

“Completely asleep, now.”

-

Shirou’s asleep. At least, he thinks he is, which might be a sign that he’s not, come to think of it. But it’s definitely close, with how dark it is, and how his limbs won’t move, and how he feels so at peace he doesn’t want to move anyway. 

But he can still feel things, like the pillow under his head, the sheets over his body, the hands running up his thighs. It’s a rough palm, but a gentle touch, and his legs slowly part with barely any pressure, despite how heavy his limbs feel. He doesn’t find himself worrying about whose hands they are, or why they’re there, or any other thoughts that come into his head and then immediately fizzle out. He’s asleep, or tired enough that it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t need to worry.

The hands go to his sides, across his stomach. They feel so big he wonders if they might be able to encircle his waist, but they don’t, gliding across his chest, tracing each line of muscle, before starting back down again. Shirou feels his boxers slip down, and then the hands are back on his thighs, the sensitive skin now exposed, but Shirou doesn’t flinch. It feels nice, actually, the slow circles of pressure on his inner thighs, and Shirou feels his breath pick up a little. 

One hand stays there, thumb still pressing soothingly, but the other touches his cock, gently cupping it as Shirou lets out a soft noise. _Something’s wrong_ , he thinks he hears at the back of his mind, but not loud enough for him to care. He’s too exhausted to follow the thought.

So he lets himself completely relax into the feeling of his cock being stroked, and his blood runs warm through his body and its heat settles into the pit of his stomach. He wants more, but he can’t ask for it, can’t even lift his hips to thrust into the hand holding him. So he waits.

He’s fully hard in what feels like seconds, but the hand on him remains slow, careful, refusing to give him any more than slow strokes and soft touches. Shirou feels another noise come out of his throat unbidden, and it keeps going in a long whine that he might have been embarrassed about, if he were awake. But he can’t hold it back, can’t even think of what muscles might be involved in doing so.

The hand not on his cock finally moves across his body, finding sensitive spots that have Shirou making more noises—his hips, his collarbone, his nipples—and touching him exactly how Shirou needs it. Feather-light touches turn to hard presses of fingers at just the right pressure, a hard pinch is followed by a massaging touch. Shirou can’t do anything but take it and moan, his cock twitching and his breath short as he feels himself slowly, so slowly crawling to the edge.

Then, the gentle pressure turns sharp, as he feels nails dig into his skin and a tight stranglehold on his cock. Shirou yelps, but can’t squirm away, still heavy all over, still unable to move.

He feels scratches across his skin in long lines, burning like they might bleed, and when one hand raking down his chest catches on a hard nipple, he shouts wordlessly, the noise muddled by lack of control over his mouth. The hand on his cock squeezes so tightly he feels like it might snap, and then the very edge of a thumbnail starts digging in, right under the head. 

Shirou wants to thrash, to scream, to _wake up_ , but his whole body feels like it’s trapped in a thick liquid, and despite everything—he’s still calm. Hurt, scared, but with a shroud of relaxation, of something like safety hanging over every feeling.

He doesn’t move.

The pain doesn’t stop. Not for a while. He must be bleeding by now, with the lines being scraped into him over and over again, and his abused cock hurts in a way he didn’t think was possible. But just as it starts to get so bad that he starts to go soft—it stops. The grip on him loosens, and the nails give way to soft, careful touches again, just on the edges of his wounds.

He feels something warm and wet run over his chest—a tongue, he thinks vaguely, running slowly up each point where he felt his skin being torn. He sighs in relief as the hand on his cock starts moving again, quicker now, and his whole body starts to feel hot and tight.

He feels the mouth tend to the lines of his muscles, and the nip of teeth every now and then, but never hard enough to hurt. Shirou’s lips try to form a plea, but he manages nothing but groans and pants that he can’t figure out how to shape into words.

But it doesn’t seem to matter, because then that mouth is on his cock, swallowing him down faster than Shirou can handle, and he comes almost immediately, his hips weakly jerking up into a welcoming throat that stays even as he goes soft, only leaving after Shirou makes a few pained, uncomfortable noises.

He was already exhausted, but orgasm leaves him completely boneless, his dim consciousness flickering even before he hears a voice, speaking quietly near his ear. 

“Five.”

-

Shirou wakes up. No nightmares, just a peaceful, uninterrupted eight hours. 

He’ll have to thank Father Kotomine again.


End file.
